


Mine

by AnnaofAza



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Harry is a Little Shit, M/M, Mouthy Eggsy, Possessive Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:52:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5182625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry sees Eggsy in his robe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine

When Harry gets home, he follows the source of light to his bedroom, then halts in mid-step at the sight in front of him.

"A gentleman doesn't steal another’s clothes." 

Eggsy, the impudent little shit, glances down at himself, smoothing the red cotton over his thighs. He's lounging on the bed, reading something Roxy's recommended, and propped up against the pillows. The lamp on the bedside casts his features in a lovely glow, throwing soft shadows from underneath his eyelashes and mussed hair. "Technically, this is our house. Which means that this—" he gestures to the robe, "is mine."

"I've had that for years. Certainly longer than you have." 

"That was the deal, wasn't it? Mr. Pickle stays in the loo, and I get your robe." 

" _My_ robe," Harry corrects, more firmly. He leans up against the doorframe, still dressed in his suit from today's meeting at HQ. "It doesn't even fit you properly." Not that he particularly minds—he likes how the sleeves fall over Eggsy's strong wrists and how the lapels tangle around his knees. He likes how the white pajama bottoms hang so that Eggsy has to roll the hems up above his ankles. He likes how Eggsy looks, bundled up in Harry's clothes, warm and comfortable and protected. 

But that doesn't always mean that Harry likes not having his rightful piece of clothing. 

"I can order you a new one," Harry suggests. "Tailored just for you, and far more warmer. I'm afraid mine has gotten threadbare over the years." 

Eggsy shrugs, without looking up from his reading material. "Suits me well enough. Besides, why don't you just order another for yourself, if you miss it so much?" 

That. Cheeky. Brat. 

Harry crosses the room as Eggsy turns a page in his book, and reaches for the robe’s belt, beginning to untie it with a spy's deft fingers. 

"What are you doing?" Eggsy breathes, not moving when Harry places one knee on the bed for balance.

"Taking what is mine," Harry replies, and flicks the robe open to reveal Eggsy's bare chest. He runs his palms up Eggsy's chest, slowly and almost reverently, before taking ahold of the robe and slipping it off Eggsy's shoulders.  "It suits you better like this." 

He then kisses Eggsy, who closes his eyes as Harry coaxes his mouth open, exploring the lush warmth with his tongue and teeth. Eggsy tastes of the leftover spaghetti Harry had cooked last night, tomatoes and basil and cream, and he opens his mouth a little wider as Harry scratches his fingernails against Eggsy's scalp. His hair is soft against his fingertips, and the way Eggsy utters a gentle hiss makes Harry dig in his fingers more. 

"Harry..." Eggsy lets go of his book, and it falls to the floor with a soft thump. "You can't manipulate me like—ahh..." 

Harry grazes just the edge of Eggsy's neck, noting the other man's hitch in breathing, and lifts Eggsy up as Harry shifts to sit on the edge of the bed. He then sets Eggsy on his lap, legs dangling over Harry's right side, and braces the younger man with a firm hand on his back. The other holds Eggsy's hip firmly, and he kisses Eggsy again, soft and tender, but with a hint of further promise. Eggsy winds one of his arms around Harry's neck in response, the other reaching for his fingers cup Harry's chin and tilt it further up. 

They kiss languidly on Harry’s king-sized bed, the mattress creaking ever so softly, with both of them closing their eyes to better feel the sensation of lips and fingers and quickening pulses.  

It would almost have been sweet if Eggsy hadn't scraped his teeth at Harry's bottom lip and _bit._

"You're wearing too many clothes," Eggsy playfully notes, and divests Harry of his suit jacket, letting it carelessly slip into the floor. Harry frowns, but ignores it in favor of Eggsy unbuttoning his waistcoat. He has clever hands, Harry notes, not for the first time, with scraped knuckles and quick fingers that easily slip each button out of its proper hole. The vest soon joins the jacket, until Harry's left with his pinstriped button-up shirt and his blue tie. 

"Let's even us up," Eggsy murmurs, just when Harry's fingers slip underneath Eggsy's creased white trousers. "And we c—"

Harry deliberately rubs him, in a slow, obscene grind, and Eggsy moans— _"Harry"_ —as his eyes clench shut and his head slides forward. "Harry, you bastard— _oh_ —"

But he allows Harry to lift him a few inches above his lap so that Harry can tug the trousers off his hips. Eggsy’s naked, now, legs splayed and neck flushed, sweat beginning to already shine on his forehead. By contrast, Harry’s still almost fully dressed—glasses perched primly on his nose, hair in an orderly part, and polished oxfords still on his feet. Heat curls into his stomach when he feels the warmth of Eggsy’s bare legs and arse through the material of his own trousers, and it heightens when he sees Eggsy’s cock, hard and desperate, jutting out from between his thighs.

Harry handles Eggsy with the experience of having done it so many times, taking Eggsy in his gently-clenched fist. The heat of it is familiar, and Harry allows his fingers to squeeze a little before moving up and down Eggsy's cock. "A gentleman refrains from name-calling, darling." 

"This is unf—"

"Unfair?" Harry helps, continuing his movements. "Like how you steal my clothes, eat most of the bacon before I sit down at the table, let that dog sleep on our bed?" 

"Better than the loo," Eggsy manages to say, and Harry squeezes again. _"Harry!"_

Eggsy rolls his hips with every twist and stroke, and grips harder when Harry pulls him so he's further pressed up against his side. There's really nowhere to grab for Eggsy, so his fingers try to find a foothold while Harry slowly jerks him. Eggsy manages to grasp the sheets on the bed, and Harry _hmm_ s when Eggsy’s spine tightens as he adds a rough twist at the top of the head. The sheets will be wrinkled tomorrow.

With Harry’s other hand, he splays his palm over Eggsy’s chest, feeling his beating heart, and just brushes a nipple with the tip of his fingernail. Eggsy gasps harshly into Harry’s ear, back arching, hips rocking, making Harry wish he’d thought to undo his own trousers. But it’s too late now, and he has to take care of Eggsy first.

“Harry—Harry— _fuck you_ —let me— _fuck—let me—”_  

Giving Eggsy a punishing twist of his nipple—Eggsy _howls_ —Harry sighs. “A gentleman asks. Not demands.”

_“Harry—Harry—god, just—please—“_

Harry plants a kiss behind Eggsy’s ear, tasting sweat and skin, and presses his palm down harder so that Eggsy’s body is flush against his chest. His perspiration soaks through Harry’s white shirt, trickling down his thighs with precome, and Eggsy moans. Harry can imagine how his weapon-roughed hands feel on Eggsy’s body, riddled with scars from past missions and past beatings from his horrible stepfather, and gentles his touch. He traces random patterns up and over Eggsy’s chest, murmuring platitudes into his ear, and continues to stroke Eggsy’s cock, as it twitches helplessly underneath his hand—a little bigger than Eggsy’s—nails neatly trimmed—fingertips slightly burned from a bomb accident in Slovenia—

Open-mouthed and closed-eyed, Eggsy shudders, and Harry moves faster—watching the smooth brow wrinkle and lips part and fingers still clenching into the sheets and hips squirming and limbs beginning to shake—

Eggsy comes, with a shout, and Harry holds him through it all the spasms and sighs, not bothering with the mess that’s dripping down Eggsy’s bare legs and Harry’s own trousers and the hardwood floorboards.

He’s slumped forward, chest heaving in gasping breaths, and Harry notes how liquid his limbs are, how his eyelashes are fluttering shut, how his cock lays limp between his sweaty thighs. Eggsy looks exhausted, worn out, and pliant, so Harry takes the opportunity when he can.

Falling backward to lie on his back, supporting Eggsy with an arm wound around his waist, Harry reaches across the bed and drags the crumpled robe to himself. He sits up to whip it around his shoulders, hastily tying the belt around his waist over his clothes. Eggsy makes an indignant little sound at the back of his throat, and Harry leans forward to swallow it in a deep kiss.

“Mine,” Harry breathes against his lips.

Fingers clench around the belt of the robe, and _tug,_ so Harry’s yanked down on top of Eggsy, who’s breathless but has a distinct challenge in his eyes.

 _“Mine_ ,” Eggsy refutes, and the night begins again.

**Author's Note:**

> The nuns at my old Catholic school would throw holy water at me if they saw this...


End file.
